


I'd Give You All That You Could Drink And It Would Never Be Enough

by VORACIOUSpng



Category: Tiny Meat Gang (Band)
Genre: Fun with my English assignment, Happy Halloween, M/M, Vampire!Noel, also, happy new year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VORACIOUSpng/pseuds/VORACIOUSpng
Summary: Decided to make my halloween oneshot into a supernatural trilogy, so check this out if you're into that kind of stuff.Noel is going through some tough stuff, and Cody just wants to be there for him. Unfortunately, our short king is under oath.... blood oath. But maybe there is some compromise they can come to. There have been passionate nights between the living and dead before, or so I've heard.





	1. Incisors

"...but they never really do, right dude?"

"Yeah man," Noel blinks twice and answers on pure reflex, eyes clearing and sliding over to Cody's form on the opposite chair. He looks placated enough to continue telling his story, accompanied mostly by quiet hums and weak laughs from his partner. And if Cody describes things in more detail and more slowly than usual, well, Noel isn't paying enough attention to notice.

Instead, he glances off, and his thinly veiled thoughts burst through the dam once more. _'Twenty more minutes,' _He thinks to himself as he closes his phone and slides it back into his pocket, _'Just nineteen and a half more minutes'_. At this point he's so out of it Cody is basically doing the podcast by himself.

Noel's brain is occupied in another dimension, noting the awkward traces of alkali in their new studio even after the renovations, and the bitter taste that seemed to linger in the air and play along the roof of his mouth. He knew the latter was a trick of his mind, however, delirium setting in from his frantic mental state. He's right now anxious if he's ever been.

He barks out a laugh and an affirmative at Cody, empty eyes refusing to meet his partner's. _'Just nineteen more minutes,'_ He thinks, _'just eighteen and a half more minutes.'_

He scratches absently at the back of his neck under his collar, and then higher right at his hairline, then his shoulder, and his ribs, his knee, back up at his thigh and--

_'Shit'_

When Noel realizes what he's doing, he forces his hand to stop, but a million different itches spring up in retaliation. His inner elbow, his cheek, behind his ear, his neck again, but he doesn't dare move for them. He knows no amount of scratching will relieve it. The real itch is somewhere below the surface of his skin, but just shallow enough to trick his brain into trying to scratch it away. His nose, his stomach...

_'God... stop. Just eighteen more minutes.'_

He blinks and holds his eyes shut for a moment, idly runs his tongue along his teeth. The temptation to do it, to apply just a little more pressure along his canines smashes into his head like a hammer. To flex the slick muscle against the pointed bones, it's hard to ignore because he could easily just push a little more and flood his mouth with--

"Noel?"

Cody is sitting on the very front edge of his seat with eyes of fear, microphone pushed away from himself and headphones around his neck with his arms braced on his knees. "You okay man?" He asks when he sees that he finally has his attention, and Noel gets the impression that he may have said his name a few times before he responded.

"Uh, yeah. I'm good, dude," he says and tries to take a moment to gauge Cody's assumptions, to see if he's chalking all of it up to some sort of anxiety attack. At the downturn of his lips, it looks as though he isn't buying it. Noel's back itches, and he clenches his teeth against the desire to scratch.

His stomach seems to growl as though persuading him to tell the truth, but something about it is wrong. It's more like a buzzing vibration, and it's much too high up to have come from anywhere but his chest. The hunger itself even seems to originate from somewhere else inside him too, more in his brain and lightly through his every limb. His fucking _toes_ tingle with starvation.

"To be honest man," Noel starts before he can stop himself, pushing his mic away too, "I'm absolutely starving."

"Oh. Well, we can take care of that! I had noticed you were spacing out a little over there." Cody looks relieved to have such a simple solution and says as much in a smile and sigh. "What have you eaten today?"

"Nothing," Noel answers immediately, something inside him just needing to be truthful, but quickly closes his incisors on his tongue and looks off, debating how much honesty is too much. Cody's mouth falls open at the words, and Noel winces.

"We can end it there. The Podcast, I mean."

"Oh, no dude," Noel starts, but Cody talks right over him.

"Yeah, you're looking pretty sick dude." He says, and the slightly stressed smile on his face strengthens into something a little more real.

"And not in a good way."

Ironically, that manages to get the first real chuckle out of Noel of the night. His teeth release his tongue, and Cody absolutely beams.

"Besides, you're pretty out of it, and you're the one who was tellin' me that it would be better to get out good content that's shorter than to push for shitty content." He says, and Noel hates that _Cody_ is his voice of reason in this situation.

He wants to say "Nah man." He wants to say "Let's do this." He wants to tough it out and be alright and not be a liability. But he couldn't deny that he was in no condition to be holding up a focus on much of anything right now.

'_Dammit,_' he thought, pressing his tongue into one of his cheeks.

This was the reason he'd put himself on such a strict schedule in the first place: to prevent it from cutting into the other aspects of his life, to keep himself in control, to keep the people around him from having to deal with the effects of it. What a top-notch job he was doing with that one.

"Sorry man," Noel muttered and shook his head, "Yeah, let's go grab something. I'll be feelin' better later."

Cody didn't look dejected, however. In fact, he looked downright happy as he sprung up from his seat, swiping up his phone and scanning the room for his essentials. "Cool, I'll get us an Uber."

* * *

The noises in the Chinese restaurant sounded like they were being played through a megaphone between Noel's ears. Every metal fork against a ceramic plate, every thud of a footstep as servers practically stomped to-go orders over toward impatient patrons, every half-chewed swallow echoed through his head like a thunderclap. It made his teeth itch.

Despite the overactive A/C, he's starting to work up a sweat. Between his racing, tripping pulse and the trail of fingers running along the ripped seam of his jeans above his knee, he's sure he looks like a junkie. He caresses the skin under the table, reminiscent of a self-soothing gesture he's come to recognize in himself, but with a bittersweet twist. These days, he has to carefully keep the pads of his fingers flat along the skin. He had bitten his nails jagged a long time ago to better aid scratching, but wouldn't allow himself to succumb to the temptation of snagging his flesh open.

Across from him, Cody pretends to be watching something on his phone while trying his damndest to asses what Noel must be going through. Noel makes sure not to give any hints. He smiles and makes a surprisingly characteristic comment about the wait time so far, gauging the extent of Cody's suspicion as he did. It was like some corrupt game of tag: fake right, break left, and watch to see if the opponent will chase you around the table again, or if you'll need to find a new obstacle to put between the two of you.

But Cody takes the bait and progresses the joke, and suddenly he's going again. It was kind of scary, Noel thinks, that even now in this entirely fucked state, he can so easily divert himself away from being the subject. He figures a part of it is definitely Cody trying to help him out, but still.

He might just make it through this.

Well, of course, he won't. He doesn't expect to.

But he is pleasantly surprised how long the charade stays up. He actually manages to keep it together up until the thirtieth time a server walks by with steaming plates and bowls, clacking shoes and labored breaths, and he is shot with the thought that he wouldn't be able to enjoy a meal in this state.

"I'm heading to the bathroom." He says and stands, doesn't even wait for the confirmation from Cody after his chair slides harshly across the old tile. He takes long strides across the room, past all the too-loud conversations and flaring chopsticks. His hand is in his pocket clenched tight around the brown flask, and it probably looks like he has some sort of weapon concealed in it of something. Before he even knows it, he's bursting through the door and awkwardly shuffling past another guy who is on his way out. The man chuckles and calls out a joke about the food here, but that's all Noel gathers from the interaction before he's gone.

He squats down and checks all of the stalls for feet, but it seems like for the first time since he was violently thrown into this situation, he was finally alone. Carefully, he slides into the last stall, the one with the musty smell and hard water seeping into the edges. It doesn't matter, as long as he's here alone and he can finally _eat,_ none of it matters. He winces, dries his sweaty hand on his jeans and takes a steadying breath.

But by now, it's hardly necessary. It has become like second nature, the way the flask slips out of his pocket, the lid twists off on its own, and his barely shaking hands pour and cup its contents. His eyes feel large and too dry, his mouth small and too wet.

And on his hand, the blood is too dark. 

It has a slightly dead smell and looks a little thicker than blood normally is under the flickering yellow lights, but Noel has acquired a taste for all of this. The acrid, alcoholic stench of blood thinners and clotting inhibitors was even heavier in this place than in the streets. It quickly warms against his skin and the black sludginess seems to dissipate a bit.

Without so much as a second thought, he raises his hand to his mouth and cranes his neck to lick it up. For about half a second, he forgets why he restricts himself from doing this.

The coppery burst along his tongue, along with the slightly salty taste of his own flesh in a false parody of truly feeding from another human, _'Oh hell,' _he thinks, because it does wonders for him. The oily feeling of it trailing down his throat, even the way it pulls at the back of his tongue, absolutely begging him to gag, it all feels so good. It feels like the second it hits his stomach, it spreads through his chest and down his limbs all the way into his nails.

_'Fuck...'_. He can't tell if it's a thought or if he says it out loud, but he doesn't care either way. The next swipe of his tongue across his palm is slower, more methodical. He has to make this last because it's going to be the final time this week. Noel simply won't allow this to take control of his life.

The prickling heat under his skin immediately fades to a pleasant hum, and the sigh seems to feather past his lips at the relief. His back, his neck, his legs, his elbow, that spot right underneath his bellybutton, their muscles all seem to give their own pleased shivers.

Idly, Noel's tongue traces over his teeth, spending an especially long time over his now elongated canines smugly. It didn't matter what his body did in response to the light teasing stain along the inside of his lips, he would never hurt another person for this..._ not for this._

Shame washes over him and he glances down toward his hands.

They've steadied now, but they tingle with something other than malnutrition. His hunger is different now, the nearly black smears along his palms are old, cold even after resting on his skin, still and boring. He knows what they want. The buzzing in his head has gone from a satisfied hum to violent vibrations, begging to be freed. And he knows exactly what it would do with that freedom.

Through capillary and cell, vein and artery, it burns and boils through his body. Not sentient, not aware, but far older than he could ever hope to live. It whistles deep within his skin like a tattoo, in his vision like vitreous floaters, trapped in his nose hairs like butterflies in a net, banging in his ears like a drum. Unwillingly, he feels a kind of excitement from deep within as it roars.

He has to physically stop himself from pushing the stall door open again, opting instead to sit down on the toilet seat and take deep breaths. Now, it seems as though the downright disturbing sounds of the other patrons have been vacuumed from his senses. He can't focus on much other than the monster inside of him.

It's not alive, but it has a presence in his mind and it laughs within his lungs with enough strength to force an echoing chuckle out of him. Noel's head lolls to the side with another bout of tension. He can feel it like a sword, hold it like a shield, see it like a wave before it crashes over him and then washes away, only to come back stronger. It would be so _easy_, to just _do it_. The building is off a ways from any police stations, there are only a few people here anyway, and in this state, he could take them all. At once, maybe.

The fine vessels in his brain are too weak for the sizzling blood that they have to hold within their frail walls. He can feel it singing his sensitive, tender flesh as it passes; thank god he's strong enough to withstand the pain like it is now. Strong enough to plant his feet and remain still. Strong enough not to harm anyone else.

Noel sucks lightly on the skin of his wrist until even the slightest hint of week-old blood is nothing more than a memory. He has to swallow hard and get a grip on himself when the raw stench of warm blood only a few steps away makes his head spin. His teeth are still sharpened and thrumming with disuse, but his tongue pushing against them from behind is enough to bring it down a few notches. He blinks his eyes shut and laughs another humorless laugh.

It feels like he slowly regains his body after that.

His head finally stops thrumming, and his toes twitch in his shoes above the dirty, grimy floor. Noel cringes involuntarily at the sensation, and then again when he realizes what he must've looked like through that whole ordeal.

That was definitely the worst bout he's ever had since being... bitten.

'_God,_' He thinks, '_This is my life now._'

With a sigh and an idle flex of his fingers, Noel decides he's been here long enough; it's time to placate Cody's concerns before he makes it into another big ordeal. Hell, if he can fake a good enough recovery, they might even tell the story on the podcast next week. He'll have to think of something to blame his little slip up on though.

'_Dammit,_' he thinks, but finally gathers himself and makes his way back to the door. 

When he arrives at their table, their food is there, and Cody has barely concealed question hot on his gaze. Noel smirks when he's asked if he is okay.

Because no matter the joke he cracks to Cody, he thinks he is. Even if he's not right now, Noel _will _be okay because Noel has this under control. From this moment on, he's in control.

He is.

Isn't he?


	2. Canines

All things considered, Noel was getting better at this. Which, of course, really means that everything in the situation is getting much, much worse. 

No one should become good at being deceitful, especially at a time when you're supposed to be particularly close to the people you're hiding from, literally and metaphorically. Being on tour means becoming something like conjoined twins with the entire crew, he discovers, and a lesser man would likely have crumbled under the weight of their combined breaths down his neck. Cody was the worst of the bunch, always a welcome company while he quite blatantly tried to get a view into the depths of Noel's mind.

The fact of the matter is that better does not always mean good. He can see the bewilderment behind Cody's eyes right after he zones out, the concern and worry and a splash of fear just visible behind his eyes. It was like one of those holographic images on the front of notebooks and planners, where you can see the focus high and in quality with the barest hint of another image just below. It was a little nerve-wracking, to say the least. The web he'd weaved became larger and more complex by the day, pretty soon he wasn't sure he'd be able to make his way back to the center.

But, Noel is still here. And he's even gotten better at this.

Right now, they were in one of the rare moments between the neverending barrage of settling into a venue and the zinging heat of performing their set: sleep. Or that's what this time was intended to be used for. Adjusting well to one thing often meant sacrificing another for Noel, and in this case, he hadn't slept a full night since the third night of the tour. He laid in his bunk, listening to the soft chorus of breaths and shuffling fabrics while he waited for the sun to come up.

Internally, he had the brief thought to kill time scrolling through social media for something to bring up on the podcast, but ultimately decided against it. There was an article somewhere that said that the light from phones made it harder to sleep or something, and he wanted the best possible chances he could get. 

Noel let out the breath he'd been holding out through his nose, the smooth flow of it being interrupted as an itch arose on his back. He slipped an arm under his body, only to freeze in place when he felt that weak singe of pain begin in his shoulder, threatening to become more.

' _ Dammit _ ,' he couldn't help but think, ' _ Not now _ .' He had already come to terms with the fact that he wasn't finding sleep beyond three am tonight, but he didn't need a toiling reminder of the numerous shortcomings of his... affliction on top of that.

From what little knowledge he had of vampires and the like from urban legends, he was supposed to heal extra quickly, and in his experience he actually did. But only to injuries he'd acquired  _ after _ turning. It was almost like a folklore version of needing to read the fine print.

He felt his lips twitch downward at the awkward angle his elbow was bent and resigned himself to risk it for the metaphorical biscuit. Noel rolled onto his side, careful each step of the way not to jostle his shoulder while finding some sort of way to let the arm extend. It worked well enough, but this new position seemed to hollow out and emphasize the emptiness already in his stomach, causing it to growl its protests.

Noel had to hold back a displeased sound of his own volition at that. Goddamnit, it was not a feeding day, not even close, but he wanted more than anything just to have a deep sip and feel that old soul work its magic on his body. He imagined this must be the seductive allure that every addict felt; the knowledge that it was  _ wrong  _ or  _ bad _ , duh, but the sensations inside, the way that your body seemed to oppose your abstinence to spite you was even worse. It was one thing to say that some voice whispered in your mind that you needed it, but it was entirely different when your very nerves were insisting that you succumb, that you just have a taste and sit back for a moment. When your very bones threaten to betray you and pour up a glass, just to feel it be carried through you like a train down a track, all the while they dare you to resist any further. 

God, it was time to step out and get some air. The thick darkness in the cabin was smothering him.

He gives it a moment, considering his basketball shorts and old tee advertising a rock band he didn't even listen to, and concludes rather quickly that it is a wise investment. He feels like he's making a mistake when he slips on the jacket holding that familiar weight within the inner pocket. He dismisses the thought though: it's a little chilly outside and he wouldn't want to get sick.

In a way, just being outside and away from everyone does help a little. Even if they're not awake, having them around can be a bit exhausting. It seems easier even to think under the pale moonlight, surrounded by trees and grass and the vast, boundless environment. It wasn't a particularly beautiful place, but this was one of the few times Noel could be outside without his hoodie pulled up or a hat guarding his features from the glaring sun. Another salient quality of his chronic illness, sunshine was a knife to his progressing waxpaper pallor.

He feels his tongue rise up to press at the backside of his teeth while his eyes search for a place to sit. Lightly at first, but as he contemplates the somewhat cloudy night, the subconscious action increases until the slick muscle catches on sharpening canines. He settles on a nearby rock, the only one lacking any collections of moss up the side, and not even bothering to scold himself for allowing it.

He knows it won't amount to anything, and it's the first time he realizes the conscious thought has manifested beyond some gut feeling. He stares blankly ahead, finally allowing his mind to roam those forbidden rooms. Aleena had sent him off with more than enough... fluid... to last him the whole trip. Plus, he had opted to bring along the details for a few different refill services they frequented as well, just as a fail-safe that he had no intention of actually using. This was the moment he spent so much time and practice considering at home, Noel feels as the look in his eyes hardens, solidifying like his resolve. The fasting, the minimal traces when he fed, it all culminated into being the image of humanity that he was right now. It was daunting, being in a closed-off space with all those warm, inviting bodies absolutely surging with blood. The worst job a vampire could have, aside from working at a blood donation center, was probably being a comedian. To be practically able to  _ hear _ the delicacy rushing through people, and ugh, knowing that you were to blame for it. The stakes were so high they were in danger of burning up in the sun. But the tangibility of being in control of such an immense, totalitarian affliction that virtually overtook all higher brain function was a high of its own. There was no way he could give up the lengths he'd gone to, all of the extremes he put himself through in order to ensure that all those people were safe under his care, in exchange for a night of momentary satisfaction.

But that pesky tingle in his shoulder, his brain seemed to sing back to his logic. The connection between him and that entity without a name could disable this pesky human flaw in a flash. It was a persuasion tactic, he was sure, the way the beast relieved all his aches and pains after it as unleashed. It was a sort of instinctual "thank you" for being let out to play, which he only knew because it was such a recent development to his stricter schedule. A stiffness in his back once, a crick in his neck another time, and some soreness from what was likely the early onset of carpal tunnel, they had all been lifted after a feeding never to be seen again. If he didn't know any better (and truly, he doesn't) it would sound almost like a sales pitch. A "look at what I could do for you, all that we could be together" style of bestowal customized for their corrupt bargain specifically. And he'd be lying if he said it wasn't damn convincing, sometimes.

Noel lifts his good arm to his face, cradling the bridge of his nose to try and ward off the approaching headache.  _ God _ , the shit just kept coming and coming.

His eyes fall down toward his other hand, tracing the lines and divots in the flesh as though they could somehow feel them. He's so... human. Every inch of his skin is riddled with grooves and cracks and the occasional scar or blister, as far from perfection as anything could get. There are random stray hairs everywhere, even the odd curve of one of his fingernails was pulling his attention like a magnet. Everything about him, about his body, was shrieking to be perfected. For him to round off all those ragged edges, to sand down those shallow channels until he was soft and supple and yet so supremely statuesque in his indefectibility. This is the part he can't control, the creature's ingrained inclination to, for lack of a better word, feel. As stark as it sounds, he'd never personified this disease to the point of giving it sentience before now. Noel didn't even have to entertain the childish notion of perfection anymore, but that monster's presence within him was so proximate to his in the cramped, overloaded sea of his mind that their thoughts and desires could nearly be mistaken.

He's overthinking things, he realizes idly, but the thought itself connects the dots in his head like constellations. One sip could solve this whole mess tonight. The name of the game was autonomy. When you lose your ability to control an indulgence, you lose the ability to control yourself. How much control would he be showing looking like a tweaker all day during the rehearsal tomorrow? 

There is no self-pity in the decision, no uncertainty or hesitation. His options are to be the responsible adult that he knows he can be and take care of himself tonight, or risk showing off how much of a junkie he really is tomorrow. He thought before for just a moment that surrendering now would be the equivalent of throwing the sacrifices and persistence of himself and others to the wind. He knows now that that is not the case. To lose that atmosphere comprised of the virtues that make a human, to reject his own autodidactically consummate reign,  _ that _ would be chucking all this hard work to the wind. His instincts, the human ones that he had never been given any reason to question before, were telling him to quit fighting a losing battle and  _ eat goddamnit _ , like normal people do when they're hungry.

The familiar brown flask is in his hands before Noel really knows what he wants to do with it. The black cap disappears like magic and before he even cares to stop himself, the blackened blood is running down his wrist on both sides in thin, twin rivulets.

His tongue darts out in the most snake-like way possible, and he pretty much hisses when the flavor his tongue. He catches as potential runoff and passes the old blood over the expanse of his mouth evenly, ensuring that even the tastebuds in his cheeks get a generous coating. He blinks a few times, eyes heavy-lidded and unseeing toward the environment around him while the eager mix of sensations run over him.

His heart picks up the pace instantly, racing at the opportunity to spread the divine liquid that was already diffusing into his bloodstream into his brain. Noel rocks his head back on his shoulders, mouth falling open in a soundless moan. He had a habit of waiting to feed until the final vestiges of his control are stripped and weak, often toeing that wavy line betwixt giving himself what he wants and taking away his invaluable control like a ballet dancer. This was the first time he'd eaten like this so far, purely for desire on not on an entirely empty stomach, and he could see why it was the norm. 

The ardor that he had grown so accustomed to holding and feeling on his skin was weaving through him in thick, winding paths, like the roots of an old tree or a kite's talons scraping apart everything inside of him. It's as addicting as it is frightening, threatening him as though a surrender to something he can't quite understand lurks below the surface.

His lips close, twitching up into a smirk as his eyelids fall low. Primal and animalistic is how he would describe the hold, Cryogenian and carrying a pearl of wisdom that could easily precede all life. He gave his shoulder an experimental roll in its girdle and laughed brokenly when there was no pain. The range-of-motion was still restricted at this point, Noel thought of it as a static feature of this vessel that would remain until it decayed out of its bones anyway, especially if he maintained the will to keep the boundaries of their agreement in place.

He was tempted to choke the whole thing down right then and there, to bathe his innards with that sinful unction, but even in this state, he wouldn't dare. More than that brief moment of satisfaction could offer, he wanted to savor the thin traces of it, to immerse himself so wholly and completely in the entirety of it like a dip in the center of the ocean.

And naturally, of course, that's when someone decides to slam one of the doors to the bus shut behind themselves, dumping hot coals onto the moment he wanted frozen in time.

He's thankful absolutely one thing at that time, and it's the fact that he didn't try that idea of walking a short ways away to do this. He can't imagine what he would look like coming out of the distance in the middle of the night to... who even was that?

With the mostly empty flask tucked safely away on one of his inner jacket pockets, he turned and faced the bus, watching the dark figure seem to recognize him and head in his direction.

When he sees that it's Cody, he doesn't know how surprised he really is.

The guy looks a little worse for wear, but Noel is willing to check that all off as him having just woken up. Brown hair is strung out in all directions resembling some exotic bird, and the wrinkles in his clothes appear resilient as they are visible under this fairly bright moonlight. As he approaches, Noel is sure there just may be a wet patch of drool on his shirt as well, but that could just as well be his humanity leaking through in the form of some pareidolia.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" Cody doesn't sound accusatory in the least, more worried or borderline afraid before any of that. The odd part, though, is that he doesn't sound like you would expect someone to after just waking up. His voice was clear, ringing out through the night like you would expect a brand new bell.

Noel tries to gauge Cody's suspicion-to-knowledge ratio of what he actually thinks Noel is doing to the best of his ability, but he must admit, half-awake Cody doesn't really give away a thing. "Just stepped out to get some air," He settles on after a moment of silence, trying for a dangerous medium.

Cody doesn't look appeased, however. He eyes the rock where Noel had been sitting, eyes flitting back to him before moving in the direction of it as well. Noel follows him without a word, waiting with bated breath for a reaction.

"Really?" Cody asks once they have both been seated, "Because you've been acting kind off lately, dude, and I don't know why."

Noel bites down lightly on his tongue, between two molars--the safe teeth, and looks off. This is the part that  _ really _ tests him. He tries his mind for some half-truth to relieve Cody without actually giving away too much, but that Nile has begun to run dry.

"I... I have been having a rough time, man," He deluges, and when Cody stares blankly, his mouth continues without his permission. "I've been going through something and I'll be honest: I'm not really dealing. Like, at all."

Cody looks off then too, just as Noel looks back at him. He looks like something else is bothering him, but he doesn't say anything just yet. They sit like that for a moment, something rustling the leaves a few paces back, but neither of them reacting. Or maybe that's just Noel's hearing acting up, the throughs of his feeding still awake and alive within him. It's almost gross, how his hearing seems to hone in on Cody heart, beating strongly and so surely, so naturally. It makes his lips tingle.

"Do you need to talk?" he asks, and Noel questions his ears when it feels almost shy it's so hesitant. His gaze snaps over quickly, and he watches the emotions play on Cody's face like children in the summer. He feels his tongue between his teeth again, hoping he could hold it there forever, or maybe that he could just bite it right off. Cody doesn't miss the reluctance on him, the unspoken urge that probably seems like something other than wanting to sink his teeth into him. He takes it as an invitation to reach out a hand onto Noel's shoulder a squeeze, definitely reminiscent of something Noel has done to him companionably and in passing about a billion times over.

"Nah." He says simply with his mouth, but the way he leans in to Cody's touch says something contradictory. He allows himself the moment, his eyes fluttering shut and lifting his arm to Cody's shoulder as well, something like solidarity between them.

Only, Cody shatters the moment by pulling away from him like Noel is made of fire.

He narrows his eyes at him for a moment but doesn't speak as he takes a hold of Noel's arm, wrenching it in front of him and yanking up his jacket's sleeve like it's the barrier between him and about a million bucks.

The sight below is, quite frankly, mortifying. On his arm, right below his wrist, is a dark smear of blood. That much is visible even underneath the moonlight.

Noel sighs and looks into the brown guns leveled at his eyes, feeling the weight of that confusion and pure disappointment.

"Uhh... I can explain?"

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, she's back but rather than a vengeance she has more Codel. Feel free to leave me a comment if you liked it, or if you want me to stop lol ;)


End file.
